Chapter One: The Night She Died
The rain was cruel that night.
It fell like knives from the sky, soaking the sacred grounds of Blackridge as if the moon herself wept for what was about to happen. Thunder rumbled across the heavens, a warning that no one in the clearing heeded. Not the elders in their ceremonial robes. Not the warriors standing guard in the shadows. And certainly not the Alpha who stood beside her, blade in hand.
Eira Duskbane didn't cry.
She knelt in silence, her wrists bound with silver-threaded rope that burned every time she moved. Her once-glorious Luna robes—white and gold, trimmed with royal insignia—were now soaked through and stained with the mud of betrayal. Her raven-black hair clung to her cheeks, plastered by rain and blood. The bond mark on her shoulder throbbed like a fresh wound.
She didn't flinch as the Alpha—the man she had once called her mate—stepped forward.
"Eira Duskbane," Alpha Thorne Virel said, his voice steady, his tone devoid of emotion. "By the decree of the Elder Council and in accordance with the sacred laws of the Moon, you have been found guilty of treason, murder, and witchcraft."
Whispers surged through the gathered pack like wildfire, but no one interrupted. Not even her closest allies. Not even her family.
Because she had none.
Not anymore.
She looked up at him, meeting his icy grey eyes. "And do you, my mate, believe that I betrayed you?"
Thorne hesitated for only a fraction of a second, but it was enough. She saw it. The guilt. The doubt. The fear.
"I believe in justice," he answered.
Eira smiled bitterly. "Then you should pray it never comes for you."
With a nod from Thorne, the guards dragged her forward to the altar. A stone slab older than the pack itself. Carved with the runes of their ancestors. Normally used for blessings, rituals… and executions.
She had dreamt of this moment once, as a child—standing on the altar as the chosen Luna, the beloved of the Alpha. Now she stood on it as the cursed one. The one the prophecy spoke of. The one everyone feared.
The Moon's Wrath.
The storm swelled. Lightning cracked the sky, illuminating Thorne's face as he raised the ceremonial dagger.
It was said that killing a fated mate drove an Alpha mad. That the bond would break both hearts.
Thorne's hand didn't tremble.
The blade plunged into her chest.
Pain erupted like wildfire, stealing her breath. Her eyes locked with his one last time, and for a moment—just a breath of a moment—he looked human. Regretful.
Then the darkness swallowed her.
She fell.
But she didn't fall into death.
---
She fell into fire.
---
It was heat and pain and blinding white light. Screams echoed through the void, some hers, some not. A thousand memories ripped through her at once—her childhood, her training, her first shift, her first kiss with Thorne, the night they mated, the day he condemned her.
And then, silence.
A heartbeat.
Another.
And air.
Gasping, Eira shot up, coughing and shivering. Her hands scrambled across the sheets beneath her—not stone, not soil. Cotton.
She blinked.
She wasn't in the altar. She wasn't in the clearing. She wasn't dead.
She was… in her old room.
The walls were cracked and faded, the paint peeling. The ceiling still leaked in the corner. The bookshelf was missing two legs and propped up by bricks. Her window overlooked the training yard, where young wolves sparred before breakfast.
She hadn't seen this room in seven years.
Not since…
She stumbled to the mirror. Her reflection stared back—
Young.
Too young.
Her cheeks were rounder. Her eyes wider. Her hair shorter. Her body lean and unmarked. No scar. No Luna mark. No bite.
"No…" she whispered.
She spun around and grabbed the calendar nailed to the wall.
Moon Cycle 2, Year 317.
Seven years before her death.
Seven years before she became Luna.
Seven years before Thorne killed her.
She dropped the calendar and sank to the floor, the weight of it crashing into her chest.
This wasn't a dream. It couldn't be. She remembered the death too clearly. Felt the blade. Felt the bond tear. She remembered the smell of burning herbs. The roar of the storm.
And now… she was here.
Alive.
Reborn.
She laughed. It burst from her throat, wild and bitter. The Moon had brought her back.
Not to forgive.
To finish what she couldn't the first time.
---
Later that morning, she stood in the training yard, watching the young wolves spar. She knew every one of them by name, though they didn't know her yet. Not really. To them, she was still the quiet bastard daughter of a disgraced warrior. The girl with no rank. The girl with no future.
How poetic.
"Eira!"
She turned at the voice. A boy jogged toward her—tall, lean, with honey-brown eyes and a cocky grin.
Laziel.
Her childhood friend. Her first protector. The one who would later be killed in her name.
"You're up early," he said, handing her a water bottle. "Nightmares again?"
She took it, grateful to feel something solid in her hand. "Something like that."
He watched her carefully. "You okay?"
No.
She was the reincarnated vessel of a long-lost bloodline, the bearer of a prophecy, and the girl destined to be betrayed by the man she once loved.
"I'm fine," she said.
He grinned. "Then suit up. You're late for drills."
Drills. Of course. This was the year she first met Thorne. The year she was drafted into warrior training despite her bloodline. The year her life truly began.
The year everything went wrong.
She smiled. "Let's begin again."
---
That night, after everyone else slept, she returned to her room. She stood at her mirror again, staring into the eyes of her younger self.
"I'm not the same girl you buried," she whispered.
"I remember every lie, every wound, every betrayal."
"And I swear to the Moon above… I will never be your mistake again, Thorne Virel."
"Because this time… I'm the one writing the ending."
---
But vengeance wasn't something she could serve cold. Not yet. She needed knowledge. Power. Allies. And time.
She began to rebuild slowly.
The next few weeks passed in a blur of training sessions and quiet observation. She kept her head down, but her eyes were always watching—every movement of the elders, every order barked by Beta Arland, every flinch of Thorne's younger brother, Callen. They were all pieces in the game she would one day dominate.
And then, one fateful afternoon, she saw him.
Thorne.
Alpha-to-be. Only nineteen. Still rough around the edges. Still dangerously beautiful in that way only men touched by blood and responsibility could be. He hadn't yet become the ruthless man who would kill her. But the cruelty was already there—just beneath the surface, behind that calculating gaze.
Their eyes met.
Time didn't slow. It froze.
Something in him stirred. Recognition, perhaps. The ghost of a bond not yet forged, not yet shattered. He frowned slightly, head tilting, as if she were a puzzle he couldn't quite place.
She held his gaze.
She did not blink.
Then she walked away.
Let him wonder.
Let him chase.
Because this time, when she let him fall for her again, it would be the last mistake he ever made.
---
The next morning brought the first trial.
"Combat assessments today," said Beta Arland, pacing before the trainees. His voice was sharp, commanding, and always laced with the promise of violence. "You'll fight until submission. No rules. No mercy. If you can't win, survive."
Eira stood at the back of the line, silent as ever. Her heart beat steady. She remembered this test. She remembered who she had fought. Who had humiliated her. Who had laughed when she bled.
It had been Kallan Greystone—son of one of the Elder Council, brute in both build and temper. A future enforcer. And in her past life, the one who had nearly broken her spine.
Not this time.
"Duskbane," Arland barked. "You're up. Against Greystone."
The others jeered quietly. They expected a show. A massacre.
Eira stepped forward.
Kallan grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Try not to cry this time, runt."
She didn't speak. She simply bowed… and when the signal came, she moved.
Faster than before. Cleaner. Deadlier.
She dodged his first blow, let his fist slam into air, then drove her elbow into his ribs. He staggered.
Confusion crossed his face.
She pressed harder. Dodged. Spun. Trapped his arm and twisted. The snap of bone echoed across the yard.
He screamed.
She threw him to the ground and planted her boot on his chest. Victory.
Silence.
Then, Beta Arland let out a slow chuckle. "Well. Seems someone finally grew a spine."
She didn't reply. She met Laziel's stunned gaze across the yard, then caught sight of Thorne on the overlook, watching her.
For the first time since her return… he looked intrigued.
And maybe a little afraid.
Good.
Let him fear the future.
Because she was done fea
ring the past.
Chapter One has been further extended with high-stakes action, a power-reversal moment, and Thorne beginning to notice Eira's strength. Let me know when you're ready to start Chapter Two or need help outlining the full story arc!